


summer rain

by allegrolines



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, Feelings, Food, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegrolines/pseuds/allegrolines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elevator is old and stuffy, too narrow to be comfortable. Woohyun leans against Howon’s side when it starts moving. “Okay,” he says, looking down at Howon's thumb while it traces circles on the back of his hand, the rest of their fingers loosely linked together. “Take me home?”</p><p>Howon’s mouth is dry and soft, and feels cool on Woohyun’s forehead. “Of course,” he replies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer rain

**Author's Note:**

> (set after TSC3 in Seoul)

It’s just past midnight when Woohyun decides to leave for good. He bids the others goodbye, letting Dongwoo squeeze his hands one last time before he gets up and walks away. He hears the door open again behind him a moment later, and the noise from the room spills into the hallway briefly when Howon—and Woohyun knows it’s him right away, even before he turns around—steps outside. He follows Woohyun downstairs without a word, close enough that Woohyun can smell the smoky perfume clinging to his skin.

“Are you driving back to your place?” Howon asks, once they get to the first floor.

Woohyun shakes his head. His throat hurts like it’s been scraped raw, and the metallic tang of blood is still lingering under his tongue. “Manager,” he replies at last, showing his phone to Howon.

“Ah.” Howon frowns at his own feet, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Have you called him yet?”

“No,” Woohyun whispers hoarsely.

Howon presses the button of the elevator to the building’s underground parking lot. “You don’t have to,” he says, stepping aside so Woohyun can go in first. “My car is already here, so.”

The elevator is old and stuffy, too narrow to be comfortable. Woohyun leans against Howon’s side when it starts moving. “Okay,” he says, looking down at Howon's thumb while it traces circles on the back of his hand, the rest of their fingers loosely linked together. “Take me home?”

Howon’s mouth is dry and soft, and feels cool on Woohyun’s forehead. “Of course,” he replies.

 

\--

 

“You can turn the radio on.”

It’s the first time Woohyun’s spoken since they got into the car, and the words come out thready and wrong. He stifles a cough against the inside of his forearm.

“What?”

“The radio,” Woohyun insists. The coughing only gets worse, quavering through his body, and there are tears in his eyes by the time it stops. His hands tremble when he takes a crumpled packet of tissues from his bag.

The traffic is dense and slow. Howon starts to move towards him; he looks one second away from unfastening the seatbelt and reaching out for Woohyun, but the traffic light turns green ahead of them before he can. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that Woohyun can see the white of his knuckles. “I’m fine like this,” Howon says after a moment, shifting from first to second and pulling off the main street. “Unless you want to listen to something.”

On any other day Woohyun wouldn’t have to stay quiet; he’d be talking or singing or both, leading Howon along. He stares outside, tilting his face into the summer breeze—Howon hadn’t switched on the air conditioning earlier; he’d just rolled down both front windows to let the air in, even though it’s still hot at night. “This is good,” he says.

“You can sleep if you’re tired.”

Woohyun smiles, turning over so he’s facing Howon and curling against the backrest. “You’d said that already.”

“That’s because I know you _are_ tired.”

Woohyun’s next reply gets stuck in his chest. He’s been trying to hold onto the last shreds of his voice ever since the end of the concert, but even those seem to be gone now. Howon glances at him, his eyes wide with worry. Woohyun makes himself swallow a few times, trying to ignore how it makes his ears pop unpleasantly, in addition to the pain. “Pay attention to the road,” he finally croaks.

“I know where I’m going,” Howon says, and then, almost to himself, “We’re almost there.”

“Hmm.” Woohyun looks at him. “Hey, Howon-ah.” He taps his fingers on Howon’s thigh, following the outer seam of his jeans. “We’re going to yours, right?” He feels Howon tense up immediately.

“I—is it okay?”

“Yeah,” Woohyun replies. “You know it is.”

Howon sighs. “Still, I should’ve asked first. Sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Woohyun says softly. “It’s been a long evening.”

“It’s been a long week.”

They spend the rest of the ride in silence. Woohyun stays turned sideways, his hand on Howon’s leg. Whenever he closes his eyes he ends up replaying the last two days in his mind, feeling the regret and frustration of not being able to do more all over again. He keeps them open, then, his gaze drifting from Howon to the city outside. He won’t be able to avoid thinking about his performance for too long, but right now he just wants a break from the stress of the last months. A chance to get some actual rest.

Howon parks the car and goes to take his things from the backseat while Woohyun fumbles with the door handle and then follows him with heavy steps. The ride up to Howon’s floor isn’t long, but the glow of the fluorescent lights makes Woohyun feel dizzy. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping to release some of the tension pressing down on his skull.

As soon as they get through the door of the apartment and take their shoes off Howon is on him; he wraps his arms around Woohyun’s waist and pulls him in. Howon holds onto him, turning his face into the crook of Woohyun’s neck, and shivering when Woohyun hugs him back. They stay like that for a long moment, standing in the wreckage of their bags and their scattered sneakers, not saying a word. It occurs to Woohyun, seeing how Howon’s eyes look a little too shiny around the corners when they pull back, that he might not be the only one who needs some reassurance tonight.

“Look at you,” Howon says thickly. He runs his fingers through Woohyun’s hair, not quite smiling at him. “It’s got so long again.”

“Your hands are cold,” Woohyun murmurs, leaning into them.

Howon pauses all of a sudden, cupping the sides of his face. “They’re not, Woohyunie.”

Woohyun blinks at him. “Oh.”

“Why don’t you go in?” Howon steps back and bends down to line up their shoes properly. “You know where all your stuff is. I’ll be there in a moment.”

They had showered after the concert, but Woohyun walks up to the bathroom to wash his hands. He pauses at his reflection. There’s still a bit of makeup smudged on his inner lids, but other than that he looks pale and young in the mirror, his skin wiped clean of foundation. He purses his mouth—there are dark shadows under his eyes, small red spots over the curve of his cheekbones, and his hair is loose and unstyled. No one would take him for an idol, if he were to go outside right now, but he’s just too tired to get too bothered over it.

Woohyun changes into a plain shirt, soft and worn, and shimmies out of his pants. He puts his clothes into Howon’s laundry basket before walking up to the bedroom. The sheets are still rumpled and unmade—it’s been just over a week since the last time Woohyun stayed over, and he sinks onto the mattress gratefully, inhaling the familiar scent of the fabric softener. If it weren’t for how achy he feels and how much he’s coughing, he knows that, as soon as he wrapped himself in the bedding, he’d fall asleep on the spot. But also—

“It’s so hot in here,” he says when Howon comes in. He’s carrying a mug, and Woohyun can smell the honey in it even before Howon sits down at his side. “The car ride was one thing, but we can’t spend the night like this.”

“Your throat—”

“Howon-ah.” Woohyun kneels up and slides his arms over Howon’s shoulders. Howon’s back ends up pressed against his front; he rests his chin on the top of Howon’s head. “Do you really think switching the aircon on—or not—is going to make much of a difference?”

Howon gasps, sharply enough to be heard. The cup rattles when he leaves it on the night stand. “Tell me what you need,” he says.

“To sleep, if I could.” Woohyun scoots back, tugging at Howon so he turns around. “Some tea?”

“I’ve already—”

Woohyun smiles. “I know.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep either,” Howon tells him after a moment.

Woohyun wonders what he means, exactly. There’s no way Howon isn’t exhausted, and this isn’t the first time one of them—Woohyun, more often than not—has been sick. Before he can decide whether he wants to ask for an explanation, Howon says, “We could watch a movie.”

“Sounds good.” Woohyun sneezes. “You want to choose?” His ears feel full of cotton again, making him aware of how nasal his voice sounds.

“Don’t you have to take any meds for that?”

“Already did,” Woohyun says. “Can’t take them again until tomorrow. Can you—uh—give me a tissue? Please?”

Howon goes to turn the air conditioning on and get his laptop from the living room. Woohyun stays back, blowing his nose and grimacing when that only makes it more stuffed. He smoothes down the bed a bit, rearranging the pillows against the headboard so they can sit with their backs on them. He hates the forced idleness of being ill—he wants to be able to talk without feeling like he’s swallowing gravel, to spend the night going through the concert with Howon like they normally would. To wake up in the morning with Howon’s mouth burning a path down the skin of his belly, and Howon’s hands braced on his hips.

“Are you comfortable?” Howon asks when he gets back, sitting next to him.

“Sure.” Woohyun hums, settling against Howon’s side. He tucks away whatever lingering frustration and bitterness he feels and focuses instead on the weight of Howon’s arm, draped loosely around him. “Oh,” he adds, when the music of the opening credits begins, “I like this movie.”

He can hear the smile underneath Howon’s words when he says, “I’m aware.”

They’ve both watched the film before, and that makes it easier for Woohyun to let his head go blank, until there are only the four walls of Howon’s room, the glow of the screen, Howon’s fingers on his forearm. When Woohyun rolls over to reach for the tea, sometime later, his eyes fall on the pattern of the sheets. He chose and bought them a couple of months ago, and got them delivered to Howon’s apartment right away.

It’s not just the sheets, though. There are two drawers in Howon’s closet and a shelf in the bathroom that are full of Woohyun’s things. Howon keeps one of Woohyun’s favorite mugs in the kitchen, and the brands of coffee and tea that Woohyun usually drinks while he’s working in the pantry. It’s all here, taking up space in Howon’s life, making Woohyun feel at home.

“It’s weird,” Howon says. “You’re so quiet.” When Woohyun has another coughing fit, Howon pulls him closer and kisses his temple. “I guess it can’t be helped today, yeah?” he adds, low and rueful, almost unbearably gentle.

Woohyun takes a little sip of tea. “If you think it’s too quiet,” he replies, even though that’s not what Howon said, “then you should talk.”

Howon laughs. “You know?” he says. “I think I figured out why you like this movie so much.”

“Oh?”

“It’s all about the soundtrack, right? It always comes down to music, with you.”

Woohyun can barely hold a conversation, but Howon tells him about how certain melodies identify specific characters, and how they can be heard in different moments of the film, complementing the plot and the dialog, adding to the storytelling. He also talks about camera and filming techniques, and ends up explaining how cutting and editing scene transitions is done. His voice is smooth and measured. Woohyun loves him like this, so passionate about the things he’s interested in.

“D’you want to direct a movie or something?” he asks.

Howon stops talking; he seems surprised, when Woohyun cranes his neck to get a look at his face, like he didn’t expect that question. “I’d like to try to, at least,” he finally says. “Some day.”

“You’ll be good at it.”

“How can you know that?” Howon sounds amused.

Woohyun sighs against his skin, breathing him in. “Because it’s you,” he replies.

In the screen, the main characters fall across the sky, holding onto each other. “Is the tea alright?” Howon asks suddenly.

Woohyun has been drinking slowly, careful of pacing himself since it really hurts to swallow. “Yeah,” he says, smiling up at Howon, “it’s good. That’s why I’m savoring it.” The half-truth rolls easily off his tongue. “Thanks, Howonie.”

All the films that Howon has picked and queued up are favorites of them, rewatched many times before; any other day this would be just another way of celebrating the end of their first stretch of concerts. Howon starts to doze off halfway through the third movie, and Woohyun follows suit not long afterwards, surprising himself with how little it takes for him to fall asleep in the end. By then their late night has turned into a very early morning. The flat is silent, except for Howon’s deep, even breaths; while he’s not an overbearing cuddler, his arm is still draped over Woohyun’s ribcage like an anchor. They are lying side by side, facing each other. Woohyun’s eyes grow heavier with every time he blinks, until everything fades away.

His bladder wakes him up several hours later, judging by the pattern of light and shadow that the sun is painting on the wall. Woohyun rolls off the bed gingerly—he’s lightheaded, but already feels steadier on his feet. Unlike last night, his cheeks are flushed pink when he looks into the mirror, and while he’s still coughing, it doesn’t feel like it’s rooted in his lungs anymore. It’s a small improvement, but an improvement nonetheless, and he’s more than willing to take it.

Woohyun tiptoes back into the bedroom, moving as lightly as he can. Even as he tries not to make any noise, Howon starts to stir, raising his head from the pillow and running a hand through his hair, making it stand up in messy spikes.

“It’s too early for you to be awake,” Woohyun says, getting under the sheets and curling into Howon again.

Howon’s hands skate up the small of his back. He slides one thigh between Woohyun’s, so their legs end up tangled together. “You weren’t here,” he mumbles, drowsy and candid and devastating, all defenses down.

Woohyun’s heart aches. “I’m back now,” he says.

“You are.” Howon hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. He scrunches up his nose. “Sleep?”

“Yeah.” Woohyun kisses him, brief and closed-mouthed. “Let’s sleep for a little longer.”

 

\--

 

“What’s for breakfast?” Woohyun asks, joining Howon by the open door of the fridge and peering inside. His voice still comes out hoarse and scratchy, but it’s not as painful to talk as it had been over the last few days.

“Does it count as breakfast if it’s past noon?” Howon grabs a tray of mushrooms and checks the expiration date. “I guess we should use these,” he says.

“Breakfast is the first meal of the day,” Woohyun says. “Do you have eggs?”

Howon stares at him. “What about some porridge? I have some leftover rice,” he adds, “so it would be quick to make. And it would warm you up, too.”

“How nurturing of you,” Woohyun says fondly, tipping forward and smacking a kiss on Howon’s cheek. In fact, a bowl of hot porridge sounds exactly like the kind of thing he’d eat right now.

Howon huffs and pushes him in the direction of the kitchen table. “Just—give me a moment to get this ready, okay?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Even as he says so, Woohyun sidesteps the table and goes to take his meds—antibiotics for his throat, and a decongestant to help with his nose. When he comes back Howon is slicing the mushrooms; there’s also a small onion and two cloves of garlic by the cutting board.

“Smells so good already,” Woohyun says, walking up to Howon and stopping just behind him. Since their heights are so similar, it’s the easiest thing in the world to wrap his arms around Howon’s waist and hug him from behind. He looks down at the counter over Howon’s shoulder.

“I haven’t really done anything yet,” Howon replies. Woohyun knows it’s meant to be a protest, but also notices how Howon can’t help but sound pleased.

“You’ve gotten great at this,” he insists.

Howon’s ears go very red. “You must be hungry, right? You barely ate last night.” His grip on the handle of the knife shakes a little.

The last thing Woohyun wants is for Howon to start worrying again. “How did you have those mushrooms, anyway?” Woohyun asks, hoping to distract him. “You don’t usually cook here.”

“My mom.”

“Ah.” That actually explains a lot, Woohyun thinks. “I should send her flowers.”

“Doesn’t she like you enough?”

Howon’s back is warm and broad; Woohyun sighs, turning his face into it. “It’s never enough, Howonie.”

“Right.” Howon dices the onion and garlic together. When he moves towards the stove Woohyun goes with him, not letting him go. “This is a bit—” Howon laughs, the kind of helpless chuckling that Woohyun loves the most. “It’s difficult to do anything with you holding onto me like that, you know?”

“Hmm.” Woohyun waits for Howon to say something else. When he doesn’t, Woohyun tells him, “I can stop, if you want.”

There’s a long pause. Howon heats two tablespoons of oil in a pot and stirs in all the prepped ingredients. “No,” he mumbles at last. “It’s fine.”

He cooks in silence, with Woohyun slumped against him. They still have to rehearse for the rest of concerts—and that means slightly different setlists for Busan and Japan—and to keep working on the last details of their upcoming comeback, on top of that. Woohyun still has three days worth of pills left to take; afterwards, he hopes that the breaks between their schedules will be enough to keep his voice in good condition. But if he _does_ get worse again—

Woohyun inhales deeply, trying to ignore the thought. He slips his hands under Howon’s shirt.

“Hey,” Howon says, “stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Woohyun replies, with as much over the top innocence as he can manage. “It’s a shame you put on clothes,” he continues. His fingertips toy with the waistband of Howon’s shorts. “Though safety always comes first in the kitchen, obviously.”

“What would you know about shame?” Howon says, arching into Woohyun’s touch even as he’s grumbling at him. “Woohyunie,” he breathes, so close to a moan that Woohyun can taste it, “I’ll burn our food.”

“Of course you won’t,” Woohyun soothes him. He kisses the nape of Howon’s neck. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be delicious.”

“You’re really bright today,” Howon says, a little tentative. He mixes in the rice, covering everything with water and turning down the heat so it can soften.

There are many different things Woohyun could say. _It’s easy to relax when I’m with you_ , he could reply, smiling to keep the mood light, but also, _You make me feel safe_. Or, if he were feeling particularly daring, _You smell like home to me_. “You took good care of me,” he tells Howon. Woohyun could have dealt with the side effects of being sick on his own—the coughing and the sneezing, the aches and the snot and the occasional nosebleed. However, what really drags him down when he isn’t at his best is not his body, but his mind. He clears his throat: “ _Are_ taking good care of me.”

Howon turns around into the circle of his arms. He presses the back of his hand against Woohyun’s forehead. “It must help that your fever is gone, too,” he says.

Up close, his mouth looks pink and inviting. Woohyun wants to kiss him—and so he does, closing the little gap that separates them. It’s slow and careful, and it feels like all the air is being squeezed out of Woohyun’s chest.

“I think breakfast is ready,” Howon whispers against his lips, leaning back.

Woohyun beams. “I want an egg in mine,” he says.

“Alright.”

“And seaweed. And sesame oil.”

Howon nods.

“And spring onion on top.”

“Whatever you want,” Howon tells him. He seems to think about that for a second. “As long as I have it.”

“We can go to the grocery store.”

“There’s no need to go today, though,” Howon says. “We can make do with what I have until tomorrow. Or even the day afterwards, if we get takeout. I mean—” He blushes.

 _Take me home_ , Woohyun had asked last night, and now here he is, standing in Howon’s kitchen, about to eat the food Howon has made for them. Then again, subtlety has never been their strongest point, when it comes down to just the two of them.

“Breakfast first,” Woohyun cuts him in. “Planning later.”

He’ll need to go back to his flat, eventually—his suitcase won’t pack itself, after all. But for now—

The sun shines through the windows, turning Howon’s skin gold, and there isn’t any other place that Woohyun would rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> Since this ended up involving food, it can be read as a sequel of "slow simmer". The first movie they watch together is Spirited Away :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! ♡


End file.
